I never used to treat Friday the 13th differently. It had always brought me no less luck than any other day. ‘Oh no, Friday the 13th!’ they all used to gasp at work. What nonsense, I’d think.
This morning, I cycled to the local farm for some eggs. “There’s an extra one in there,” the farmer said with a curious smile.
“Thanks,” I replied. “A baker’s dozen!”
I hadn’t been home long before the biggest egg started to move from side to side, like a baby’s cradle but more erratic.
If anyone is reading this, please, please, help me.